


Flying Too Close

by gerbilfluff



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Masturbation, Mistaken Identity, Oral Sex, Other, Pissing Kink, Possession, Slut Shaming, Unsanitary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 12:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7618987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerbilfluff/pseuds/gerbilfluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His best friend is acting beyond peculiar, but Fiddleford finds he could care less. </p>
<p>Possessed Ciphord/Fiddauthor, by request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flying Too Close

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt, from Tumblr:  
> >>>  
> Oh gosh could you write a Bill-possessed Ford Fiddauthor fic that involves lots of swearing and a ton of slut-shaming Fidds (who likes it) but Ford (unpossessed) doesn’t know that and he finds out in some way ala Bill fuckery. (Piss is cool too. :o)  
> >>>
> 
> Hope you have fun with this, Anon! I didn’t end up getting to Ford finding out, but hopefully it’s enjoyable anyhow. :3
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS: Piss kink, implied toy use, oral sex, humiliation/shaming, dirty words, and whatever it’s called when the partner you trust is secretly a demon triangle possessing him in disguise.

Flying Too Close  
by Apricot the Gerbil

  
Of all the places for his dreams to come true, Fiddleford sure hadn’t figured it would happen where it did.

He’d just unzipped his fly there in the downstairs bathroom when a knock came at the door. Fiddleford rolled his eyes. He’d *thought* Stanford was finally asleep at his desk when he’d walked past him in the lab. He was glad for the fact. That man wouldn’t stop for any shut-eye if it konked him over the head first. “Lil’ busy here,” Fiddleford called out, as he took his wedding tackle in hand and let ‘er rip.

The door opened.

Fiddleford’s stream jostled a bit in surprise. “I *beg* yer pardon!” he said to his friend, aghast, as Ford barged through the doorway and stood next to him, staring at him pissing like it was nothing peculiar.

“Hahaha! Gross,” Stanford said with an eerie smile. He pointed at Fiddleford’s crotch. “Can I hold it while you do that? Always been curious.”

The engineer went pale as a sheet, shuddering with embarrassment. He tried swishing his lab coat over to one side to hide his business from Ford’s… yellow… eyes? No, must be a trick of the light in here. “I– I–” he sputtered, unable to get any more past his lips. 

Ford leaned in, flapped the coat aside, and grasped hold around his assistant’s penis with all the casualness of passing a salt shaker.

“I know about Little Ford,” Ford murmured into Fiddleford’s ear.

At that, Fiddleford’s urine cut off. And began again, trailing to a dribble. He said nothing, biting his lower lip, as Ford calmly shook off the last few drops into the pot for him.

“…About what?” asked Fiddleford, eyes wide with fear.

“Little Ford,” Stanford repeated. He hadn’t let go of Fiddleford’s prick. Slowly, he began to roll his broad palm up and down across its length, reaching underneath it to tease fingers over a brown-haired ballsack, to Fiddleford’s wilting ‘ah…’ as he continued. “I know about it, and I know what you’ve been doing with it since you got here. Strange toys they’ve got over on the West Coast, huh? Though I should be flattered, if you think I’m really that huge.”

Fidds’s face had flushed from white to a deep, guilty red. His breaths drew shorter as Ford’s six fingers kept working. No words came when he opened his mouth this time. Just a moan through his teeth.

Ford’s other hand grazed along his cheek softly, like he was some delicate toy. “How long did you think you could hide, you dirty boy?” he heard his boss ask with a throaty chuckle that went straight to his nethers. “I mean. The things you *say,* when you’re working Little Ford inside that sweet, rosy ass of yours…”

Fiddleford crossed himself, uttering a quick “Have mercy…!” under his breath. He felt his pants and underwear be rustled the rest of the way down to the tile floor, but he didn’t protest one bit. “H-how did you–”

“Never you mind, dirty boy.” Ford yanked the back of his lab coat collar. “On your knees. Now.”

Fiddleford complied, shivering lightly on the way down. He gasped as Ford pulled away the coat from his bare rump.

“You think you deserve the *real* Little Ford?” Ford whispered to his ear, as a finger trailed gently down the crease of his rump and back. It came to a rest right over that shameful pucker of his, swirling around…

With a thin whine, Fiddleford said, “I… I’d like to reckon so!”

“AHahaha!” came Ford’s cackle in reply. Fiddleford’s quaking at the spank that followed rattled the glasses lopsided on his face. He’d never heard his friend laugh like that before in his life. He gaped dumbly, as the same hand was held out before him. “Well, you’d better do a good job to earn it. Start sucking.”

Fiddleford was confused, bless his soul. “Suck… your *hand?* I thought you didn’t like your–”

“Did. I. *Stutter.* You. Fucking. Slut?” Ford’s tongue curled slowly against his teeth as he spoke, threats hiding in the crispness of every syllable. Fiddleford flinched as spread fingers were thrust in front of his face once more. *“Suck.”*

His pulse racing, Fiddleford leaned forward to slip two fingers into his mouth.

“Thaaat’s it,” Ford purred to him with a warmth that made Fiddleford’s head spin at the whiplash. “Suck them. Just like you’ve sucked your precious Little Ford every night you’ve been playing with yourself.”

Fiddleford was soon bracing his hands against Ford’s shoes, angling his neck to take the fingers in as deeply as he could, nearly down to the calloused edge of the palm. Ford gave a pleased hum of encouragement, drawling, “*Good* boy. Let Little Ford fuck that sorry whore mouth of yours all better.”

A wet snuff interrupted the action, as Fiddleford’s eyes rimmed fat with tears. He sniffled again, leaning back from Ford’s hand just enough to murmur, “How’d you even know? Lord, I haven’t told a soul all these years, that I always *wanted…”* He trailed off.

“Wanted what?” asked Ford coyly.

Another fingertip suckle, in and out, and then, in a tiny voice: “Wanted… *you,* treating me like this… and…” Fiddleford’s cheeks were blazing with embarrassment. He jerked his head forward, all but gagging himself as the two fingers disappeared.

“And?” Stanford’s grin was nearly a rictus. “Your old friend’s big, meaty cock crammed everywhere you can fit it?” 

He shook his head at Fiddleford’s new tear trails, still smiling as the man bowed before him shuddered again in sheer lust. “It’s easy, buddy. I can smell the *slut* on you. In you, around you… You *reek* of it. I don’t have to guess how bad you want this,” Ford said.

With his other hand, he grabbed Fiddleford’s head to press his face against the crotch of his jeans. And giggled, as Fiddleford began hyperventilating. “Take a good, long whiff, you filthy cocksucker. You want *this,* right? Makes your dick nice and hard?”

“Uhnhuhh!!” came Fiddleford’s muffled reply. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

Ford rolled his head round and around against his fly, gripping the graying brown hair tight. “Want to gobble down this fantastic cock… Slobber all over it, until you stink even worse like skinny fag trash than usual?”

Fiddleford could only muster a delirious giggle, cut off by a sob. When Ford pulled his head away, thin strands of snot swung from the denim to Fiddleford’s tear-stained face.

“Wow. I’m really touching on some deep-seated issues here, aren’t I?” Ford mused, yellow eyes widening. He shrugged. “Oh well. Get back to the groveling, slut boy. I’m digging it.”

Fiddleford pulled up the end of his lab coat, snerking and wiping off his nose messily, but he was at attention moments later, hands bunched into fists at his sides, trying to ignore his own bobbing bare erection as best he could. “Yes *sir,* Mister Pines…!”

Ford smirked down at him. “Ho hoh. Listen to you. 'Mister Pines’. If your little mind only knew.”

A blank look. Fiddleford snuffed again through a moment of silence, uncomprehending.

“I think I prefer 'Your Almighty Ruler’ better,” Ford added with a nod.

Fiddleford was quick to obey. “Yes, Your Almighty Ruler!”

“What was that? I can’t HEAR you!”

“YES, YOUR ALMIGHTY RULER!” shouted Fiddleford, his voice echoing off the bathroom walls. He stretched forward into a full bow to the floor, nose touching the tiles he was quietly glad he’d scrubbed the other day.

He felt Ford’s heel pressing down on the back of his head, and choked back another happy sob.

“Touch yourself,” Ford commanded him, as the shoe ground against his hair. “I want to watch how far you’ll go. How *disgusting* you’ll show me you are, for Little Ford to pay you a visit.”

“Oh mercy,” was all Fiddleford could breathe as Ford lifted his foot. He rolled to his side, then onto his back, spreading away the lab coat tails to sprawl his legs wider. Grasping between them at the flesh that’d been pounding like a second heartbeat since Ford barged in. Rolling the stiff skin in his fist.

Ford’s eyes bored down at him, his grin never faltering. “That’s a good slut. You can do it…”

His hips bucked up from the floor. “God,” he panted, yanking away.

“You have no idea,” Ford said quietly.

Getting faster. “Oh god, help me… ahh, I’m, gonna–!” 

Ford’s voice. Or something near it. Sharper. Eager. Waiting. “Yeah…?”

“Gonna…!!” Fresh tears trailed down his face. Everything went tight. “Hhh! *Ah–!!”*

Bursting out. All over.

For Stanford.

“Of course,” his friend answered, without Fiddleford having said anything.

He looked up at Ford from where he’d fallen on the floor, semen still hot in his fist. Through the blurry squint of his tears, Fiddleford could swear his friend’s eyes were glowing. 

“Yeaaah. That’ll do just fine,” he heard Ford say, satisfaction oozing from his voice. Then he heard a zipper being pulled down.

Fiddleford pushed himself up to his knees on shaky arms, eyes widening at the sight of Ford stroking his cock in one hand.

“Made you look!” Ford smiled.

“Wha…?”

Hot urine gushed into Fiddleford’s open mouth. 

He darted backwards, gagging, but the stream kept coming, pattering onto his hair, his coat…

“Why so surprised, slut?” Ford asked with obvious glee. He shook his dick, waggling the piss spray this way and that. “Little Ford’s giving you an offering! Are you really going to be *picky?”*

Fiddleford slowly brought his arms down from over his face.

Leaned forward.

His throat bobbed thickly as he drank.

“Eww-w-w! Hahaha, I didn’t think that would actually *work!”* came Ford’s voice from overhead…

——

Ford sat up from his desk.

He stretched out his arms and arched his back with a sigh. “Ahh… What a magnificent dream. Brunch with Carl Sagan. Really got to hand it to my…” 

He cut his thoughts off there, hearing footfalls coming down the stairs to the lab. 

Fiddleford soon appeared at the doorway. “Morning, friend!” Ford hailed him, raising an eyebrow at the dark rings under his assistant’s eyes. “You feeling okay?”

Fiddleford’s mouth pursed to a thin line. “I threw Little Ford down the Bottomless Pit this mornin’,” he said in a monotone. “Waited 'till it didn’t come back up again.”

Ford tilted his head in confusion. “You what? I don’t…”

“You gave me everything I wanted. I thank you fer that, I really do. But I can’t *do* it no more.” Fiddleford’s lower lip quivered. “I couldn’t even say hello to my wife on the phone today without burstin’ into tears. I just…” 

To Ford’s surprise, his friend began crying, his shoulders heaving. “If I can’t be there as a stand-up feller for my wife and kid to look up to, then… who *am* I, y'know?” blubbered Fiddleford, wiping a hand over his face before skimming it through his hair, tugging loose a stray clump at the back. 

Ford raised a hand. “Fidds. We talked about you and your hair-pulling. Remember to breathe.”

“M'sorry. I just can’t any more. That dog won’t hunt,” Fiddleford finished tersely, and walked stiffly back up the stairs.

“Fidds! Wait!”

The footsteps paused.

“We’re still on for the project, right?” Ford asked, fearing the answer after such a strange outburst.

He heard his assistant growl in what sounded like aggravation before he was stomping up the rest of the stairs. “Of COURSE! Of all the– I’m goin’ for a walk outside!”

“Okay!” Ford called after him.

Silence hung over the lab.

“Huh,” Ford finally remarked to himself, shaking his head as he turned back to the blueprints before him on his desk. “Californians are an odd folk…”


End file.
